The Bolds on Vacation

by David Roberts

  The “tent” was about six feet high and seemed to veer off to one side rather dramatically for no particular reason, like a giant sock.

  “Are you sure it’s supposed to do that?” asked Betty.

  “I think it’s inside out and maybe upside down,” said Minnie.

  “Well, it will be dark soon,” observed Mrs. Bold. “It’ll have to do for now, I think.”

  “Doesn’t look like there’s much room inside for us all to sleep,” commented Uncle Tony.

  “That reminds me,” said Mr. McNumpty. “Where are the sleeping bags? I don’t remember unpacking any from the car.”

  Everyone looked expectantly at Mr. Bold.

  “Fred?” said Mrs. Bold.

  “Err . . .” said Mr. Bold. “Here’s a joke . . .”

  “Very funny, dear. But where are the sleeping bags?”

  “I brought my own,” said Minnie, rather primly.

  “I didn’t think we’d bother. Can’t we all share Minnie’s?” said Mr. Bold.

  “It won’t fit eight, silly!” pointed out Betty.

  There was a thoughtful silence.

  “Suitcases!” exclaimed Mr. Bold. “That’s it! Minnie can sleep in her sleeping bag and we’ll all snuggle up together in the two big suitcases. It’ll be”—he lowered his voice—“like sleeping in the den back in Africa!”

  So that is what happened. When they finally crawled inside the wobbly, strangely tall and misshapen tent, Minnie—the only human in the camping party—slept soundly in her own sleeping bag and all the others piled into the suitcases with their clothes as blankets, some head to toe, some on top of others, but all of them laughing and giggling until they could keep their eyes open no more. All, that is, apart from Miranda, who was worried about getting squashed. She made her own special hammock out of a pair of Mr. McNumpty’s underpants attached several feet above everyone else.

  Before long all of them were sleeping soundly.

  Chapter 8

  And so, traveling done and tent put up (sort of), the next day the Bolds’ much-awaited vacation began.

  From the start, the people camping near to the Bolds thought them an amusing but rather odd family. (And they weren’t wrong.) The Bolds seemed to find everything so funny—from their wonky tent to the way their funny-looking dog ate his dinner. Everything made them laugh.

  But the field of cows next to the campsite knew, of course, that the Bolds were not really people at all. Animals recognize other animals when they see them, and those cows spotted a pack of laughing hyenas quite easily. There were fifteen cows in the field with their calves—a local breed called Cornish Red Rubies. On the first day they had all stood chewing grass in the field, listening to the Bolds’ conversations and watching them try to erect their tent. One by one they lumbered over to the fence for a closer look, blinking and shaking their heads in disbelief.

  “Good grief,” one muttered to another. “Laughing hyenas trying to put a tent up. Whatever next!”

  “And making a pig’s ear of it,” replied the other.

  “Ah, yes,” said the first cow. “These must be the famous Bolds. You must have heard of them. They sometimes take in unhappy animals and show them how to live as humans. They looked after a cow from Dorset called Kirsty once. Allergic to grass, she was, and they taught her how to be a secretary. I hear she now has a very good job at the BBC.”

  “You don’t fancy jumping over the fence and joining them, then?” asked her friend.

  “Most definitely not. There’s no better life than grazing in this lovely field, in my opinion. I’m very happy as a cow, thank you very much.”

  And that, fortunately, was true of most of the animals in Cornwall. It is a very contented place. But this didn’t mean the local animals weren’t curious about these unusual vacationers in their midst.

  Apart from the cows, sheep would look up when the Bolds passed by, seagulls swooped down to call out a greeting, foxes would hide behind trees to spy on them, and even mice would appear for a swift glance before darting away, laughing in their high-pitched, barely audible way.

  Most friendly of all was a rather breathless puffin called Pamela, who met the Bolds on their first day at the beach. But more about her in a minute.

  The beach and the sea were what the family had come for, and after an early breakfast outside their tent they gathered their beach bags and a picnic together and wandered off for a day at the seaside. As the sea came into view they all stood and stared in wonderment, just as Bobby had the day before.

  “Wowser!” said Betty.

  It was a glorious, warm sunny day on Sunnyside beach and there were lots of happy families swimming, sunbathing and generally enjoying themselves. The Bolds set up their parasol, and a deckchair for Uncle Tony, then spread out their beach towels. Mrs. Bold wandered down to the water’s edge, holding up her skirt while she had a nice paddle. Stinky chased Taxi around the sand dunes, and Betty and Minnie raced over to the rock pools and began collecting shells to make necklaces with. Mr. Bold and Mr. McNumpty decided to go off to find the mini golf; Miranda went in search of an ice cream; and Uncle Tony settled himself into his deckchair to eat a sandwich and have a snooze.

  Suddenly he was awoken by a flutter of wings as a puffin landed on his chair, tempted by the crumbs of his sandwich. She was a very neat bird, with black-and-white feathers and a bright orange beak and matching webbed feet.

  “Pleased to meet you!” she said, speaking rather breathlessly, with a thick Cornish accent. “I be Pamela and you’re that family of animals from London-way, aren’t you? Someone said you were in town.”

  Tony introduced himself, then called to the others who were now all back and sunbathing on their beach towels—all except Miranda, who still hadn’t returned with her ice cream.

  Mrs. Bold peeked over her very large sunglasses and invited Pamela to join them.

  “That’s very kind of you. Do you have anything else to eat?” Pamela asked, wheezing a little. “I’m rather peckish.”

  “I thought puffins ate fish?” said Betty.

  Pamela nodded. “You’re quite right,” she replied. “But I don’t have the puff in me these days for long fishing flights.”

  “Are you very old then?” asked Betty, getting straight to the point.

  “Not really.” Pamela shook her head. “But I’m known as Pam the puffing puffin. Would you like to know why?”

  The Bolds all agreed that they would like to know, and I suspect you would like to know too.

  “I used to smoke cigarettes when I was a young puffling,” Pamela admitted. “Very foolish thing to do, but I got in with the wrong crowd and I suppose I thought it made me look cool. Anyway, I regret it now, because it didn’t do my lungs much good. Smoking is really bad for your health.” She’s right, of course. “So I get rather breathless these days,” continued the puffin. “That’s why the others call me Pam the puffing puffin. I don’t have the puff in me to go fishing, let alone migrate to Iceland in the summer like most puffins.”

  “Poor Pam!” said Mrs. Bold. “Have some of our lunch, please. There are some chips left, and how about a mini sponge cake?”

  “Ooh, thank you,” said Pam, licking her beak. “I don’t mind if I do.”

  “You’re very welcome,” said Mrs. Bold.

  “And in return, I can be your vacation guide, if you like. Show you all the best places to visit. Beaches. Walks. Nice cafes for lunch.”

  Everyone agreed that sounded like a terrific plan. Along with the sleeping bags, the Bolds had also forgotten to pack a guidebook for the vacation.

  Chapter 9

  Eventually Pam flew off and Miranda came back slurping at an ice cream that was almost as big as her. Goodness knows where she’d been. Uncle Tony was sitting in his deckchair again, gazing out to sea at the surfers.

  “De-lish!” Miranda announced, as a big drip dribbled down her chin. “You want?” She jumped onto Uncle Tony’s knee. Tony nodded and helped himself to a rather generous slur
p before looking back out longingly to sea.

  “You like go swim-swim?” Miranda asked him kindly.

  Uncle Tony nodded. “Years ago, back in Africa as a hyena, I was a very good swimmer,” he told the little monkey.

  “We finish ice cream. We go swim?”

  “Well, I’m worried it might be a bit chilly for me, to be honest,” he replied. “My bones are rather old these days. But it would be nice . . .”

  “We rent wetsuit! Keep Tony warm!”

  “Maybe,” pondered Tony. Between them they finished the ice cream and then, without a word to the others, Miranda led Uncle Tony toward the beach hut where wetsuits, flippers, snorkels and other equipment could be rented.

  “Let’s build a sandcastle!” announced Mr. Bold suddenly. He was keen for some excitement after his visit to the mini golf with Mr. McNumpty had been cut short—Mr. McNumpty had insisted on using his golf club to scratch his back, and Mr. Bold’s joke (“Why did the golfer wear two pairs of pants? Because he had a hole in one!”) had not amused the other players and had rather put them off their game. The friends had been politely asked to leave.

  Now Mr. Bold began slipping out of his shirt and trousers to reveal bright red swimming trunks. Two rather well-groomed ladies sunbathing next to him wearing lots of jewelry and glittery bikinis gave a muffled little scream when they saw how unusually hairy Mr. Bold was. “That reminds me,” said one to the other. “I must collect my winter coat from the dry cleaners.”

  “We’ll build A HUGE sandcastle!” declared Mr. McNumpty, rubbing his chin excitedly. “A HUMONGOUS castle!”

  “A sand palace!” said Mr. Bold.

  Mr. McNumpty set to work, using his big paws to build a high mound of sand. There is no need for buckets and spades when you have big grizzly bear paws. He then flattened the top while Mr. Bold tidied up the sides, patting them firmly. Soon Mrs. Bold, Minnie, and Betty had decided to join in the building project too.

  Then Bobby, panting after another chase round the beach, came back and flopped down on a towel to rest and watch what was happening. He was rather close to the sunbathing posh ladies, who wrinkled their noses and muttered something to each other. Bobby thought he caught the words “disgusting” and “mongrel.” The nerve! He loved pretending he was a dog, running about on all fours, his tail free to wag whenever it wanted to, but it was frustrating sometimes. Frustrating pretending he couldn’t understand or indeed speak like humans did. He contemplated baring his teeth at the posh ladies, or even cocking his leg on their parasol, but he resisted. He had a strong dog-like urge to jump on top of the sandcastle, though . . .

  “I know what you’re thinking, Stinky,” warned Betty. “And you mustn’t. Bad dog!”

  Bobby rested his head on his paws. Betty enjoyed telling him off whenever she could, he realized. But he hadn’t actually done anything wrong yet! He was coming to the conclusion that dogs get told off an awful lot. He dearly wanted to answer his sister back, but that wouldn’t be possible with so many people about, of course.

  After a while the castle was looking rather impressive. It had Gothic towers and turrets and lots of little windows decorated with shells and pebbles. They all stood back to admire their craftsmanship.

  “Excellent work, everyone!” said Mrs. Bold.

  “I think something is missing, but I’m not sure what,” pondered Minnie.

  “Doors?” suggested Betty.

  “A drawbridge! That’s it!” shouted an inspired Betty. “Or rather, a MOAT!” Everyone agreed this was exactly what was required.

  “Let’s all dig the moat together, then it will be done in no time,” said Mr. McNumpty, who was feeling a little tired.

  “Stinky can join in too,” said Minnie kindly.

  Bobby leaped to his feet and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

  So together they all began digging around the outside of the castle, and this time they used the buckets and spades Mrs. Bold had brought—apart from Bobby, who dug with his front paws like a dog. They excavated so much sand between them there was almost enough to build another castle. It was thirsty work in the summer sun, so they stopped for a drink of water.

  “Buckets and spades are too slow,” announced Mr. Bold. “Let’s use traditional methods, like Stinky’s doing. It will be done much quicker!”

  Everyone agreed and jumped into the moat. They began to dig, their front paws (or hands, in Minnie’s case) pushing down, then flicking the wet sand out behind them. For the four Bolds and Mr. McNumpty, a feverish animal digging-instinct began to take over and their paws dug faster and faster, deeper and deeper. They were all so engrossed in their task that they didn’t worry about where the sand was going. Nor did they hear the cries from the posh ladies next to them who were now completely covered in sand.

  Minnie stopped first. “Oh no! I’m so sorry!” she said. “I’ll stop them. Everyone, stop digging, please. STOP!”

  Eventually she made herself heard and five sandy heads popped up from the moat like big curious meerkats.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Mr. Bold.

  “Er, our neighbors,” whispered Minnie, gesturing toward the ladies, who were standing up now, furiously trying to shake the sand out of their previously perfect hair, and using their towels to wipe the sand that was unfortunately sticking to recently applied sunscreen on their arms, legs, and faces.

  “Awkward,” said Mr. McNumpty.

  Realizing what had happened, Mr. Bold immediately leaped forward and began to help with the removal of the offending sand. But this didn’t really help matters.

  “Get off me, you filthy, hairy beast!” one unfortunate lady screamed.

  “Help!” squealed the other.

  But Mr. Bold kept apologizing and trying to brush the sand off the ladies.

  “Aaagh! Get your filthy paws off us!”

  “Now madam, I’ll have you clean in no time,” he insisted.

  People nearby stood up, concerned, and a crowd began to gather. Then two lifeguards ran toward the quickly developing scene, blowing their whistles.

  “What’s going on here?” they asked.

  “This beast has covered us in sand,” cried one of the ladies. “Just look at us!”

  “Beast?” said Mrs. Bold, jumping to her husband’s defense.

  “Yes. Beast. He’s a hairy beast,” said the other lady.

  Mrs. Bold was furious. “Well, quite frankly I think you two look a lot better now you’re covered in sand. At least we can’t see your ugly faces anymore.”

  “So sorry, ladies,” said Mr. Bold. “It’s just been a misunderstanding.” He turned to the lifeguards. “We were just digging a moat for our sandcastle—and I meant no harm in trying to help the ladies get the sand off.”

  It took several minutes before the women calmed down, at which point they packed up their things and moved well away from the Bolds in a huff. The lifeguards returned to their post and the crowd dispersed.

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Bold. “I think we’ve spoiled their day. But who did they think they were, calling you a beast?”

  Suddenly there was a cry from Minnie. “Oh no! Our sandcastle is ruined!” The once magnificent castle was now reduced to a mushy mound of sand with a few shells scattered over it.

  “The lifeguards must have jumped on it when they rushed over, I suppose,” said Mr. McNumpty reasonably.

  “Never mind. We’ll build another!” said Mr. Bold.

  “Maybe not today, dear,” said Mrs. Bold. “We don’t want any more trouble, do we?”

  But Betty was staring at Bobby. He seemed to be covered in even more sand than before. And panting suspiciously. “Stinky? Did you have anything to do with this?” she asked accusingly.

  “Woof!” he barked as innocently as he could.

  Betty’s eyes narrowed. “I bet you jumped on the sandcastle when no one was looking, didn’t you? Bad dog!”

  This time Bobby was glad he couldn’t speak. If he could, he’d have said something like: “Somet
imes a dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do. And then do a doggy-do-do.”

  Chapter 10

  The Bolds hadn’t been settled back on their beach towels for long before they were disturbed by a commotion from farther down the beach—a collective cry of wonderment from a group of people gathered by the edge of the sea.

  “I wonder what’s going on there?” asked Mrs. Bold, curious. Everyone forgot about the sandcastle and the unfortunate incident with the two posh ladies, and stood up, craning their necks to see what was going on. All along the beach, people were doing the same.

  “Woooooo!” went the crowd, followed by a spontaneous round of applause.

  “Let’s go and investigate,” said Mr. Bold, so they all hurried along the sand toward the throng of vacationers, who were looking out to sea.

  Stinky ran ahead.

  It turned out that everyone was transfixed by the antics of a surfer who was riding the waves with great expertise and breathtaking skill.

  “Wow! Amazing! Wow-ee!” cried the crowd.

  When they got closer, the Bolds slipped through to the front so they could get a better look. None of the Bolds were very tall, although Mr. McNumpty was much wider and taller than most people. He very obligingly sat down on the sand once they had found the spot with the best view.

  “This dude is amazing!” a teenager next to the Bold party exclaimed. The “dude” was at this time paddling back out to sea to catch the next wave and the Bolds hadn’t yet had a clear view of his acrobatics.

  “And the little kid with him knows what he’s doing too,” commented someone else.

  The Bolds could just about see the surfer in his wetsuit, lying flat on his board, moving slowly out to sea, up and down over the swell, waiting for the right wave to come along. Then he chose a larger-than-average one, turned his board around, and paddled quickly to gain speed.

  The wave swelled and grew until it was bigger than any other. When his board was going fast enough and caught the thrust of the wave, the surfer got up on his feet and spread his arms to balance himself. Only then did the Bolds see the “little kid” with him, standing on the front of the board, a miniature version of the surfer, expertly riding the wave.